Shanghaied
by stoopbeck
Summary: Another fine mess Crichton's gotten Scorpius into.
1. Chapter 1

**Shanghaied **- Chapter 1  
**  
Rating: **PG-13 (to be safe)

**Summary:** "I should invest in a leash for you," Scorpius said to John's heaving back. On second thought, though, John would probably manage to wrap it around his neck on accident and strangle himself. And then where would Scorpius be?

**A/N:** First official fanfic. Feedback is craved.

"They shlipped me a Mickey," John slurred.

"A what?" Scorpius leaned closer to the obviously overwrought, obviously inebriated human he'd managed to saddle himself with. Life had been much much easier before John Crichton, he mused, but it had also certainly been… boring. John could turn any normal innocent situation into a hotbed of mortal peril by his presence alone, and Scorpius was frankly surprised that the crew of Moya had not just banned the man from ever leaving his quarters. Definitely the first thing he'd have done, were he in charge.

Or, at the very least, designate a guardian. Take shifts, something of that nature—this week, Ka D'Argo would watch John, next week, Aeryn Sun, next week, Chiana—on second thought, Scorpius decided, it would be much better if he, Scorpius, followed his former quarry at all times, in all places, preparing himself for any… incidents that might and probably would occur.

"A Mickey, Grasshhopper. I'm bein' Shanghaied. Bu' thass okay. He shaid you'd be here." John's eyes, though glazed, looked up into Scorpius's own in very much the same way that small domesticated animals looked at their masters when they knew they'd been indiscreet, but were still hopeful for a non-punishment kind of solution to the whole issue.

Scorpius found John's eyes to be intriguing. Blue eyes. He'd heard it said, over and over, that not that many Sebaceans had blue eyes. This wasn't exactly true, in his personal experience. Aeryn Sun had blue eyes. The commander on Scorpius's former Gammak base had had blue eyes. The Bannik slave Stark—not Sebacean, of course, but close—had blue eyes. Scorpius, for that matter, had blue eyes.

None of them had John's particular shade of blue, however, and Scorpius very much felt that that might be the key as to a the trouble John managed to get into, and b why everyone in the uncharted territories was desperate for his… company.

"Who said I'd be here, John?" Scorpius rather hoped that there was another of Moya's crew here, someone who could help him lug John back. He'd even welcome a friendly local, who – upon finding the obviously inebriated John Crichton – had taken it upon himself (or herself, or itself) to make sure that the hapless human got home safely, simply out of the goodness of his (her, its) heart. It could happen.

John beckoned him forward conspiratorially. "You know," he said when Scorpius was inches away from John's face. "In here," John whispered, tapping his temple.

Immediately the metaphoric light went on, although Scorpius thought that it could only have helped the situation if a literal light had gone on, as the tavern was not only musty but terribly lit. "The neural clone?"

John shook his head violently, unsettling his already admittedly precarious balance and nearly toppling himself over. "Thass not it at all, Scorpy. 'S Harvey."

Scorpius blinked slowly. "That would be the neural clone, John."

John puzzled it over. "Ohhh. Right."

"Did… he tell you anything?"

John squinted, trying to remember. "Jus'… just keep holding on, Johnny boy, he's coming, keep it together…" He trailed off, eyes drooping shut.

Scorpius entertained fantasies of possibly doing John grievous bodily harm.

"Now, John, you need to come with me. Let's get you back to Moya." As he moved to pick up the extremely limp Crichton, a large meaty hand settled on Scorpius's shoulder plates. It was attached to a large meaty body, a male of a species Scorpius had never encountered before. A large, armoured species. "May I help you?"

"Yeah. You can go to sleep."

Before Scorpius was even able to get out that he was not in the least bit tired, nay, was feeling quite chipper, all things considered, the meaty man's other meaty fist, heretofore hidden behind his back, held out some kind of gun. He fired.

Scorpius was awoken several hours later by a horrific noise. He shot to his feet, ready for anything—and there was John. Who, by the looks of it, was trying to vomit up the soles of his boots, and not particularly succeeding.

"I should invest in a leash for you," Scorpius said to John's heaving back. On second thought, though, John would probably manage to wrap it around his neck on accident and strangle himself. And then where would Scorpius be?

Probably in a better situation than the one in which he now found himself entangled.

The room was dark. What little light there was streamed fitfully from the single grime-encrusted window, set right where the wall joined the ceiling. The walls looked solid. The air was stuffy, not particularly helped by John's emulsions in the corner.

Really, how could anyone think with that going on.

And think he must, because who was going to get them out of this situation if not Scorpius himself? Even if John weren't – indisposed – at the moment, the human wasn't exactly the brains of the operation, now was he? How that man had managed to evade him for as long as he had was quite frankly a mystery.

By the time Scorpius had investigated the walls, the window, the extremely durable metal door, John had passed out again. Luckily, not in his own sick. Scorpius thanked whatever deities watched over accident-prone deficient clumsy species for that – it was bad enough that he'd have to deal with a grouchy hungover John Crichton. Dealing with a vomit-covered grouchy hungover John Crichton would have absolutely made his life a living Hezmana.

It was probably about time he checked on Crichton.

Carefully bypassing the mess on the floor to the right of the man, Scorpius crouched down over him, noting the worrying paleness of his skin and the way that sweat had dampened his hair, sticking it to his face. Not exactly the normal aftereffects of heavy drinking, then.

Perhaps there was something in the drink – he cast his mind back to the tavern. What was it Crichton had said – a "Mickey." At the time, he'd assumed that a) it was another annoying conversational carryover from Crichton's silly little backwater planet or b) it was the name of the drink that had managed to put him down so quickly.

Perhaps there was a third option – something, some substance in the drink that was obviously still affecting his former prey.

Or maybe this was just another in a long list of Crichton's annoying idiosyncrasies.

"Crichton," he said. John didn't move. Was his breathing more labored than usual? He looked hotter than was normal. Scorpius reached out and shook him gently. "John, I need you to open your eyes."

No reaction.

"Miss Sun is here, and she appears to have left her clothing behind."

Nothing.

Now Scorpius was worried.


	2. Chapter 2

**Shanghaied **- Chapter 2**  
**

**Summary:** "This didn't feel like his room. Last he checked, his bed wasn't made out of poorly-joined stone slabs. His room didn't usually smell like vomit and damp-rot, either."

**A/N:** I'd like to say I spent the last three weeks or so writing and revising this chapter. Instead, I was on vacation. But I was thinking very strongly about writing and revising this chapter the whole time! Thank you for the lovely reviews.

One of the nicest feelings in the world, thought John Crichton, was waking up in your own bed, in your own room, safe and secure in the knowledge that, no matter what nightmares happened in your sleep, once you were awake you were safe.

It was funny how rarely that happened here on the other side of the wormhole.

This didn't feel like his room. Last he checked, his bed wasn't made out of poorly-joined stone slabs. His room didn't usually smell like vomit and damp-rot, either. He'd open his eyes and confirm the not-his-room analysis, but that would require opening his eyes.

He didn't really feel up to it.

John felt bad. Really, really bad. His head hurt, his stomach felt like crap, and his mouth tasted like something had thrown up and died in it.

"John."

Someone was trying to talk to him; they'd have to leave a message. He'd get back to them later.

"John. John? John Crichton, I demand that you wake up this minute!"

Man, things must really be frelled for Scorpy to lose his cool like that.

John decided now would be about the right time to attempt maybe thinking about getting somewhat less horizontal. He made his grand start by opening one eye.

Scorpius was about three inches away from his face. Normally John liked to pride himself on his unflappability, his ability to remain calm in even the most dire of situations; when everyone around him was losing their heads, Mama Crichton's blue-eyed boy was keepin' it cool.

No matter what anyone else on Moya said to the contrary.

"Well, I must say, it is something of a relief to see you awake again, Crichton."

"And good-morning to you too, Scorp." John sat up as carefully as possible, and even then the room was spinning enough to make him have to close his eyes again. "What's going on?"

"To be perfectly honest with you, I'm not entirely sure. However, I am completely certain that we are in a situation of your making."

"Scorpy." John was getting queasy; the room stubbornly insisted on behaving like a Tilt-a-Whirl at the county fair.

"Don't try to deny it. By the time I found you in that . . . establishment, you'd already managed to consume a significant amount of alcohol. And, I might add, a substance which even now seems to be giving you . . . issues." Scorpy gestured delicately towards the puddle of puke in the corner of the room, not too far from where they sat. Which really didn't help settle John's stomach down.

"Hey, Scorp."

"You know, I really expected better from you. How long have you managed to survive here, so far from your home planet? And yet you manage to fall for the simplest of tricks. I can't see for the life of me how you've stayed alive this long."

"_Grass_hopper."

"John, I don't see how anything you might say could possibly add to this conver—" But before Scorpius could continue, John pitched forward and was sick all over most of his shirt, and a good deal of the half-breed's boots.

Scorpius made a noise of disgust.

John, now on all fours, wiped at his mouth, panting. "What I was _trying_ to say, sweetheart, was that I was gonna be sick."

Scorpius looked disdainfully at his boots. "Perhaps in the future. . . you will try harder." His voice had gotten significantly deeper, which usually meant that John had managed to get more under his skin than usual, something John took extensive pride in. Man put a mini-Scorpy in his head, might as well give some annoyance back, right?

John leaned back carefully onto his haunches and rubbed his temples. "Day-amn, it feels like I've got a mariachi band up in here." Scorpy gave him a questioning look. "You know, buncha guys in funny hats?" He hummed a few bars of music.

Scorpy's twitch was worth the headache.

"So what's the sitch, Scorpy?"

"We're trapped."

"Oh, well, that's just great."

"Well, if _someone_ knew better than to just take drinks from strangers—"

"Oh, that's rich, coming from the man who put a chip in my freakin' _brain—_" John finally forced himself to a standing position, and wasn't exactly cheered by the new position. The room was still locked and he was still stuck here with Scorpius and it was smelling more and more rancid the longer they just sat around.

"Yes, John, that's exactly my point. I would have thought that, of the two of you, my neural clone at least would have realized that something was . . . off."

"You make it sound like I just waltzed into the nearest bar, shouted "I'm notorious criminal John Crichton" and reached for the nearest thing on the bar." John would have stormed off in a huff had there been more room.

"All I am saying is that the next time you decide to go and get yourself snatched, leave me out of it." The half-Scarran settled himself down in the cleanest corner and folded his arms like a petulant three-year-old. Scorpy could pout with the best of them.

Not to be outdone, John stormed (as much as he could storm, just moving was pushing things, really) over to the opposite side of the room, and crossed _his _arms. "Fine!"

"Good."

"Okay then."

"Alright."

"Good."

Their mutual hissyfit was broken by a massive crash in the room next to them and half a wall fell onto Scorpius. Before the dust could settle, a pair of unsavory-looking individuals crawled through the hole onto the rubble. One of them was quite possibly the largest Luxan John had ever seen. He made D'Argo look puny.

The other was Stark.

John blinked. "You!"

Stark goggled. "You!"

There was a groan from underneath D'ArGinormous. Stark looked down just in time for Scorpius to emerge from the wreckage. "Him?"

"Him?!" growled Scorpius.

"YOU." The Luxan's shout shook down a little more of the wall. He pointed a finger at John and a finger at Scorpy. John was pleased to note that even Scorpius looked a little flustered when the business end of a gigantic Luxan's finger was pointed in his direction.

John came forward to Stark, who was fanning the air with a strange look on his face. "Are you here to rescue us?"

"Ah, actually, we're prisoners too."

"Oh."

"Yes." Stark nodded, smiled uneasily.

John tried again. "It's just that, you know, what with the wall falling in and all –"

"Oh!" Stark nodded some more. "Yes, I can see why you'd think that."

"Ah." John paused a moment. "So, the reason you came through our wall? I mean, other than the need to redecorate, because I like the effect, really, it . . . uh . . . really makes a difference."

The light of comprehension shone out of Stark's good eye. "Oh! Right. Well, it was his idea." He gestured towards his large companion, who had quite the impressive vein sticking out of his temple. "He, ah, couldn't sleep. All we could hear was the sound of you two, ah, arguing. Your side, my side, you -- drinks from strangers, him – Aurora chair, and, ah, G'ranik lost his composure and attacked the wall."

John looked back over at G'ranik, who'd stomped back to the room he'd shared with Stark and collapsed on the floor. "And the reason he can't just break down the side of the wall with the door in it?"

Stark opened his mouth, closed it. "Oh. We didn't think of that." He watched as G'ranik began to snore.

"Well, better luck next time, right, Stark?" John patted the former slave on the back.

Scorpius staggered to his feet, brushed off the few remaining clumps of rubble. "Next time, John Crichton, you're not allowed to leave the ship." He also stormed off into the better-smelling room. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go sit in the cleaner room." Stark followed.

As John began to tag along, Stark stopped him. He pointed to the room that now housed a sleeping Luxan and a drowsing Scorpy. "Our side." He took a whiff of Crichton, made a sour face, and pointed to the icky room. "Your side."

John curled up in the only corner not covered in rubble or worse. "This is so not fair."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

A/N: Let me just say how sorry I am that it's taken so long to get this posted. You guys can thank PrettyArbitrary for reminding me that I had a story hanging around, unfinished, unloved. Here you go: a whole new chapter! Aren't you excited? I am!

Scorpius sat in the dim dank jail cell and wondered what he'd be doing right now if he had not appointed himself John's bodyguard. Probably sitting in his room, perhaps eating something, maybe meditating upon the vagaries of life.

Definitely not sitting here listening to John try out his imbecilic humor on anyone who would listen. He'd told one about the Hynerian who crossed the road that Scorpius had found to be especially pointless. Who cared whether the Hynerian crossed the road? He'd likely cross it again. To get to the other side? Was there food on the other side? John didn't appreciate the questions, actually going so far as to get snippy when Scorpius tried to explain that he was only asking for clarification, as John's details were murky at best.

On the other hand, John's attempts at humor were worlds better than Stark's drivel. He'd woken up Scorpius the one time he'd actually managed to fall asleep in an intense conversation with Crichton about why exactly John had been so ill upon waking. After deciding that it was probably whatever drug they'd used to get him here (they'd probably figured on his being a Sebacean, which he clearly was not), Stark had gotten caught up in a repetitive murmering of "My side, your side," which had nearly driven Scorpius to murder.

More than anything else, he wished he hadn't followed John the day before.

"Okay, Scorpy, try this one on for size: This Delvian walks into a bar – THUNK!" John stood back expectantly, face shining with anticipation.

Scorpius raised his eyebrow.

"Because, like, the bar – you know, what, never mind." John rubbed his eyebrow, frustrated. Scorpius had no sympathy. He knew frustration, knew it quite well, and the pouting human in front of him was the main cause of it.

Stark stared at the floor, biting his lip. "I – I don't get it."

Scorpius leaned back against the wall and frowned. "I find your thirst for mindless violence somewhat disturbing, John."

John shrugged, gave that devil-may-care grin that so irritated Scorpius, and had probably driven that madman Crais into his decline. "Well, I am an American."

Stark looked up, mouth open, even more confused. "I thought you said you were _human_?"

John looked blank for a moment, then threw his hands in the air in disgust. "You know what? That's it. If no one here can appreciate my talents, I might as well just leave."

Scorpius's eyes widened. "What? You're going to go all the way to the other room? Really, I don't know how we'll stand your absence."

John pointed a finger. "That's just catty, Grasshopper. Other room, hell, I'm bustin' outta this joint!" He strode into the other room with purpose, disappearing from Scorpy's sight.

About time, really. Any longer with him in the room and Scorpius might have had to decapitate him. Which, while it would have been eminently satisfactory in the short term, might have put a crimp in Scorpius's long-term plans for the eradication of the Scarrans through John's brain's wormhole technology.

There were days when Scorpius allowed himself to wonder if the wormhole tech was really worth all this. Whether it was worth the time he had to spend with this—this _human_.

Of course, spending time with the ever-irritating John Crichton had its advantages. Their enormous new Luxan friend, G'ranik, had been seething for the last hour or so. The whole reason G'ranik had decided to build a new door between their two cells was to stop John's ceaseless chatter, and he looked like he might be considering a new effort in that direction. While Scorpius was confident that he'd be able to stop the Luxan from killing the human, even in a fit of hyper-rage, he wouldn't mind too terribly if John got a little bludgeoned. It might build character.

Someone crouched beside him, disturbing his musing. Stark.

"If you want me to explain the joke to you, I don't have a clue why Crichton thought it was funny."

Stark blinked, mouth gaping. There was a Peacekeeper saying about that – "Open mouth catches flies"—and Stark would do well to remember it.

"Er, Scorpy—" Stark broke off, wringing his hands.

Scorpius smiled beneficently. "Yes, Stark?"

Stark dithered some more. Scorpius had forgotten how much the Bannik irritated him. When Scorpius growled, Stark came right to the point: "Scorpy, ah, will John be able to escape?"

Scorpius frowned. "What?"

Stark gestured towards the other cell. "He's trying to escape. Do you think—"

Scorpius was on his feet in an instant. He strode through the collapsed wall into the cell with John, who was fiddling with the door. He'd ripped a long strip from the bottom of his shirt and had tied a knife to the bottom. He was at this moment actively engaged in dangling the knife out the tiny window slot from the shirt strip.

"John," said Scorpius in what he liked to think of as his most reasonable tone of voice, "just what are you doing?"

"I had an idea. I saw it on MacGyver once."

Scorpius paused, hand in the air for effect. "You know, I have a theory about you, John Crichton. Would you like to hear it?"

When John grunted an affirmation, Scorpius continued. "All this things you say, all these nonsense words—they used to puzzle me. The only way it made sense was to imagine that your culture had to have been vastly different from ours, if every other word out of your mouth is untranslatable. Then, for a while, I thought that it was to drive everyone around you insane. I don't believe either anymore. Do you know what I believe now, John?"

John paused in his labors and looked up at Scorpius. "What, Grasshopper?"

"I think you can't help yourself. I think your gibberish is all you have left of your home, and your stubborn clinging to phrases and names no one here can possibly understand is simply due to your inability to acclimatize to our end of the universe." Scorpius stroked his chin thoughtfully. "What do you think, John?"

John refused to meet eyes with Scorpius, instead focusing all of his attention on his escape attempt. "I think you're full of crap, Scorpy."

Stark chimed in from behind them. "Dren, John. He's full of dren, you mean."

Scorpius felt a full-on headache blooming behind his right eye. His current cooling rod would only last for so long. He'd been trying to make it stretch, because after that he'd be on his own. Which would not be pleasant. At that point, Stark and John probably could potentially make his head explode.

As cheerful as that thought was.

There was a clunk from the other side of the door, and the door handle on their side of it turned just slightly.

Perhaps John wasn't as much of an idiot as he appeared. This actually might work. "If you don't mind my asking, Crichton, where did you get the knife?"

Without pausing in his efforts, Crichton said, "I got it from D'arGinormous over there. He said I could have it if I left him alone. Nice guy."

There was another clunk from the other side of the door, and this time the handle turned completely. The door opened.

John looked blankly back at Scorpius and Stark. "It worked," he said.

Scorpius stared at the door. "I don't know what's worse, the surprise in your voice or the fact that you might have just saved all of our lives. You're going to be insufferable for

the next few solar days."

While Stark went back into the other cell to get G'ranik, John eased the door inward. When it creaked, he paused, spit on the hinge, and tried again. This time it moved relatively smoothly and quietly.

"You continue to impress me, John," Scorpius said quietly. When he wasn't being unbearable, the man could actually come through from time to time. No wonder the crew of Moya hadn't abandoned him long ago.

John put his eye to the hand-sized gap in the doorway. "Can't see anyone. Looks like the coast is clear."

That brought to mind the seaside for Scorpius. When he thought about it, John's confusing sayings had a certain genius to them. If the coast were clear, he mused, a swimming assassin could sneak onshore without being noticed. He made a mental note to pay more attention to the things that came out of Crichton's mouth in the future.

John opened the door the rest of the way, carefully creeping into the hallway. He looked left and right.

Scorpius did the same. The hallway was lined with cells in both directions and stretched for a vast distance.

"So. Scorp. I got us out. Where do we go from here?"

Scorpius realized that he had absolutely no idea which way would lead to the outside world. He'd been as unconscious as John when he'd been brought here. "You know, John, I have no idea." The statement left a sour taste in his mouth, and his apprehension kicked up a notch, bringing his cooling rod that much closer to burnout.

John glanced at the hallway. He whispered, "Eenie, meenie, miney—we're going down this way." He took off down the left tunnel, Stark following close behind, G'ranik lumbering in their footsteps.

After a moment, Scorpius got in line. "We are utterly frelled," he said to himself. John had taken charge—they were never getting out alive.


End file.
